Facing Fears
by avrovulcan
Summary: Napoleon encourages Illya to make a decision. Originally written for song story challenge on LJ. Part of my Illya and Rebecca series.


Napoleon and Illya were writing up reports of the assignment they'd not long completed. Solo noticed Kuryakin hadn't written a word for the past six and a half minutes, he'd just been staring at a name he'd written on the document, lost in thought.

"I know you like her, tovarisch."

"Who?" Illya barely glanced at his partner and hastily continued writing.

"You know very well who I mean. Why don't you ask her out?"

"Have you finished your part of the report?"

"Not yet."

"Thank why are you distracting me from mine?"

"Because I know you like her and you should do something about it before it's too late."

"About what?"

Napoleon slammed his pen down on the desk and walked around to face his partner.

"Agghhh, Illya you can really drive a person mad. I'm taking about asking Rebecca Andrews for a date, she is scheduled to go back to England in two days' time, you might not get another opportunity, I know you like her, why all this masquerade?"

"I have a report to finish Napoleon," Kuryakin replied with a raised eyebrow, avoiding answering the question.

Solo threw his arms up in the air in frustration, "I give up."

"Thank you," the Russian smirked.

He couldn't help thinking about the female agent brought in from London, it was true he had grown fond of Rebecca and he knew she liked him too, but since that night in the cabin*, they hadn't taken it any further; too afraid to have a relationship, knowing they lived on the edge and one day one may not return.

He secretly envied Napoleons relationship with Lizzie Johnson, a nurse in Medical. Since meeting her when out sailing,** his flirting habits had changed, much to the disappointment of the secretarial pool, and he'd settled down with her, he'd told Illya it was like something that had been missing from his life had been found.

Lizzie understood the dangers Section II agents undertook, and had seen at first-hand how they sometimes returned, but it had made their relationship all the stronger.

Illya wanted some of the happiness Napoleon had, but the pragmatic Russian thought, with the dangers he faced every day while doing his job, he wouldn't be able to have a similar relationship with another Section II.

He though back to that wonderful night in the cabin, finding out Rebecca was attracted to him as much as he realised he was to her. They'd just finished an assignment working together and had been stranded alone for the night until they could be picked up the next morning.

It was a night he'd replayed in his mind several times, hoping one day he'd be able to spend another night with her, but too afraid to 'go for it' as Napoleon would say.

"Two days."

"What was that, tovarisch?"

Illya hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud, "nothing," he mumbled as he hunched over the report, his pants suddenly feeling quite tight.

Napoleon caught the flushed cheeks and the awkward way Kuryakin was sitting and knew what he'd been thinking about.

Just then the source of the Russians discomfort walked in; seeing an opportunity for his friend, Napoleon decided to give the two some privacy.

"Ah, hello Rebecca," Solo gave his usual charming smile before turning to his partner, "I need to check something in Research, I'll be back later."

"Fine, I will be here when you return."

Illya smiled up at Rebecca, hoping his current physical discomfort wasn't evident, "Hello, it is nice to see you."

"Hi Illya, I… um…. I just stopped by to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? I did not think you were leaving for another two days?"

"I wasn't, but there didn't seem to be much point in staying on, so I'm…. leaving tonight."

Becca tried to hide her disappointment, she'd hoped after _that night_ and discovering their feelings for one another, something would have happened. She noticed the Russian was also trying to hide his own disappointment at the news. She had nothing to lose, so she laid her cards on the table.

"I'm sorry, but I can't pretend what happened between us in the cabin was just a one off. I'm attracted to you and I know you feel the same way. I know because of the danger of our jobs you don't feel we could have a normal relationship and I understand that, but I just can't continue like this, just being polite to one another when deep down we both want something more. So yes, I'm going back to London tonight."

"Rebecca, I have been doing a lot of thinking lately and I am sorry I have behaved in the way I have. You are correct in that I have developed feelings for you, even though I have tried to deny them. It does concern me that our relationship would not be a normal one," Illya rose from his chair, and took Becca in his arms, "but I am willing to try."

"Our relationship? You mean?… are we?…. Oh Illya, you don't know how much I've wanted this."

"I believe I have just realised how much I wanted this too."

He kissed her with such passion, he wished they were back in the remote cabin and he could prove to Rebecca how much he did want this, though she was quite aware of his sincerity as he pressed his body up against hers

"What about going back to England, now I realise how much I want you with me?"

"I will ask Beldon for a transfer, and I'm sure Napoleon will put in a good word with Waverly. Think you can hang on to those amorous feelings for a week or two?"

"Only if we can spend tonight together," Illya grinned.

"I'm sure my flight can be moved to the morning."

Napoleon leaned against the steel wall in the corridor, a grin on his face; these new audio gadgets from Section three were quite useful as he listened through his office wall to the conversation inside.

He pushed the slight feeling of guilt at eavesdropping on his friend to the back if his mind as it went quiet inside. He had a fair idea what was now happening, so he pushed off from the wall and made his way to the commissary whistling a happy tune as he went. Finally this silly masquerade was over.

*Ref: The Cabin (mild het)  
**Ref: Sails In The Sunset


End file.
